From the Sky
by Amarin Astarte aka Leif Verde
Summary: A very young Legolas learns life lessons


**_From the Sky_**

To go play a game of tag with the boys, or to accompany the ladies of the court in gathering berries? It was not a difficult choice.  
Malen chuckled as he watched his youngest brother half-dance at the side of one of the handful of beautiful maidens who headed into the forest to gather ripening fruit.  
"Already he busies himself with stealing the hearts of every lovely young creature in the wood."  
"You give him too much credit and maturity, brother." Brethril smiled, "He is still a child, and a very innocent one at that. You know how much father shelters him."  
"I know as much, dear brother, especially since Faelhun was..." Malen felt his hands clench involuntarily at the memory of his younger sister. He remembered his father's explanation to his littlest brother that his beloved sister had simply gone away. The elf-child had simply looked a little sad and accepted that maybe he would see her again some day.  
"He held us all closer after that day, and after every tragedy following, but none so much as Legolas." The tone of the Crown Prince of Mirkwood was untainted by envy or disdain, only wrapped in a most gentle fondness that smoothed and soothed the sharp edges of Malen's hurt so that he was forced to smile himself.  
"The Jewel of Mirkwood." 

"Mirkwood's Jewel" indeed was not interested in the ladies, although he did find them finer company than boys who were only interested in rough play. They had sweeter songs to teach, and the touch of the older ones brought back floods of pleasant memory of his sister... the way she would braid his hair into impossible plaits, adorning him with so many beads and barrettes that he tinkled like a thousand bells with every motion. No, although he adored them for their mannerisms, he was not interested in them.   
He wanted berries.  
The elven equivalent of a human ten year old, he had already gained a reputation for disappearing on those watching him, and the elf-women called constantly to the young prince to keep close, to not wander. He did not listen, of course, his only concern to find the largest and tastiest berries. Oh, he adored red berries of all kinds. Cherries, raspberries, strawberries... His mind was on woodberries, though. The plump, soft fruit grew on vines that wrapped themselves around the trees of the dark wood, and were his favorite snack.  
It took him not a few minutes to slip the watchful eye of the eldest of the ladies he gathered with and he wandered deeper into the forest, further and further picking and eating. He had gone a mile before he knew it, but felt no fear. What was there to fear in his own home wood? 

Legolas was getting tired, mostly from eating. His basket was nearly empty, but his belly was not. He ate far, far more than he picked and felt no guilt in it. The small elf lay down in a patch of moss between the roots of two great trees to rest. He felt familiar darkness beginning to come over his eyes, and thought nothing would feel better than a nice nap. Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he began to doze.  
A dream of riding winged, feather-maned horses through the sky was interrupted by a shriek that shook him back to the forest. The keen came again, frightening the elf-child terribly. A third time, and now he heard the pain in it.  
Standing slowly, his legs cramped from his position, he thought only of finding the source, of making that horrible sound stop. He had no experience as a tracker, but the sound, shrill and painful, was easy to follow. He clambered over thick, gnarled roots and through bushes that tore at his clothes until he was right on top of the sound.  
A bird. A beautiful golden hawk lay on the ground, eyes half-closed, wings spread and weakly flapping. Legolas could only stare at it, wondering what was wrong. He had seen many like this bird high in the sky, admired them from afar. Now here was one he could touch and hold, but it was hurt. Broken.  
"Uachas... malthenmin, i nallanaeg," he purred, kneeling beside the shaking animal, "Don't be afraid. Why are you crying, golden one?"  
His small fingers brushed the silken feathers as he attempted to soothe the bird with his song. The hawk calmed a little, but continued to keen. Had it fallen from its nest and was calling for its mother? It seemed too large to be a baby, and it was not the right time of the year... Maybe it was sick?  
Sitting down on the leaf-covered ground, the prince pulled the bird into his lap from where it lay in a dark patch of dark, shining grass. As he folded the wings against its sides in all intended gentleness, he discovered the source of the bird's malady. An arrow, black as the night pierced its body beneath the wing. Blood soaked the feathers of its side to the skin.  
"Someone hurt you!" The young elf looked at the wound in disbelief. Why would anyone want to hurt an innocent animal? Tugging off his cloak, he gently wrapped the injured creature within it, then tucked into his berry basket, the fruit making a soft but sticky bed for it.  
Standing on nervous legs, heart hammering with a sudden unknown fear borne of the black arrow, he ran.  
Legolas ran blindly from the cursed spot he would found the shot hawk until he slammed headlong into something that knocked the wind from his body. He fell backwards, leaves flying up around him from the force of his fall. The something was both hard and yielding. Not a tree or a rock, but a body. An elven body. A cursing elven body. He recognized the voice.  
"Brethril!"  
"AI! Legolas! Where have you been?" the eldest son of Thranduil picked up the youngest and set him on his feet, picking a pine needle from the boy's hair "Perhaps you would have been better named after the leaves of autumn! Like them, you always seem to float away on the wind eventually." Brethril laughed softly, glad to have found his brother, "Now come, everyone has been worried about..." his voice died on his lips and he dropped to his knees, his hand going to Legolas' red-stained tunic, "You're hurt? Who did this? Were you atta—"  
"It's not mine. It's his!" Legolas picked up the basket from where it had fallen. The feathered passenger within barely moved, eyes closed tight in shock, "Someone hurt him. Help him, please?"  
Brethril met the desperate, confused look that broke across Legolas' face. The large cat-blue eyes of the little boy were filled with tears so close to the surface that he fully expected them to spill over any moment. He nodded and took the basket, examining the bird within.  
An orcish arrow. Buried deep and poisoned. He sighed inwardly, knowing this was a situation he was not ready to deal with. The king had done a fine job of sheltering his precious youngest from the pain and knowledge of death, of murder and war. It was not easily done for elves of the forest, but Thranduil had done it. A carefully constructed wall about to collapse.  
"Legolas... This bird is... there is nothing I can do..."  
"Why not?" There was pained confusion in the child's voice that stabbed as deep into his own breast as the barb into the beautiful golden bird's.  
"It is beyond my ability..."  
The crown prince jumped back as Legolas, with surprising ferocity for his gentle, shy-violet nature, snatched the bird from his hands. The look of burning betrayal was unnatural on his round face.  
"Father will help him if you WON'T!" So much hurt and frustration in that last word that Brethril could not even stand as Legolas ran off with the bird towards the elven halls. He could only sigh, bury his face in his hands, and mourn lost innocence. 

"Father! Father!"  
Thranduil turned from his conversation with an emissary from Lothlorien at the panicked call from his lastborne. Legolas burst into the room, and the king's heart set into a terror pace when he saw the blood covering him.  
"Legolas! What has happened? Are you—"  
"Brethril wouldn't help him! You can, can't you?" Panting, the child held out the bloody bundle to his father. Thranduil looked from the elf he had been discussing business with, to his dearest son and back before offering an apologetic smile to the ambassador and attempting to calm the prince. 

Legolas placed the bandaged bird on the bed beside him that night, stroking its soft feathers. It craned its neck and preened at his fingers, actually looking better.  
"I knew father could help you. He always makes me feel better when I hurt." He kissed the bird on the soft crown of its head, then blew out the candle on his bedstand. The exhaustion of the day overtook him, and he was lulled to sleep by the slow thrum of the hawk's heart. 

When the youngest prince did not attend breakfast, worried looks were exchanged. By now the entire court knew of the incident with the bird and of the potential damage the inevitable outcome could create. Thranduil stood from his picked-over meal, but was stopped by his eldest son. No words were exchanged, but a tearful Legolas had told the king as he worked on the bird how the crown prince had refused to help the dying animal. Thranduil sighed and took his seat as Brethril left the dining hall. The prince heard his father's words, elven soft, as he passed the doors.  
"Yesterday was a day of pain, let this be one of healing." 

It took a few moments to work up the nerve to enter. He did not fear Legolas; he was twice the child's height. But he feared his hatred. He feared his sweet brother closing his heart to him.  
Fool. You should have taken the bird. Taken it, put it out of its misery, and told him you let it go.' But that would have been more roundabout deception. Eventually there would be no way to shield Legolas from the full horrors of death. Better it be a small taste than so great a portion that it shatters his mind and sends him screaming to the Gray Havens before he even has a chance to live as his own person.  
Brethril tapped on the door, noticing the new bundle of feathers adorning it. A mithral pheasant whose tail was composed of real plumes from the bird it represented. No doubt a gift from Dulinn the Songstress. Only she kept such animals as companions.  
With no answer forthcoming, the crown prince slowly pushed the door open. No sign of his brother in the outer chamber. He looked with falling heart to the gilded sculpture of a bird of prey that sat on the boy's paper and book covered table. How much harder this was going to be that the youngest prince counted the golden hawks of Mirkwood among his favorite creatures.  
"Legolas?" The door to his bedchamber was cracked. Pushing it open, he was both surprised and terrified to find the boy not in his bed, but instead a drying burgundy stain upon the silk sheets, "LEGOLAS?"  
"What...?" The disjointed voice came from the window. The opaque curtains obscured the youngest prince as he sat looking out at the new morning, the forest, and the birds circling it.  
"You're well?"  
"What care you about my well-being?" It was a pretentious air, Legolas trying to sound more adult than he was, than he thought he would ever be. It also helped him to mask the tears. His fingers stroked golden feathers that covered a body cold and still.  
"You are my brother. I love you."  
"So you say."  
"I do. May I... May I sit?"  
"If you wish."  
Brethril pulled a chair over to the window and brushed back the curtain. He could see Legolas well now, as well as the bird in his lap. The boy's fine hair was unbrushed, and his eyes distant. The embroidered silver nightshirt he still wore was stained with bird's blood. He continued to pet the hawk, his fingers clotted with gore and loosened down. It was a picture of grief to kill an elf.  
"He woke me up. He was moving strangely, making strange noises. I-I held him. That was the only thing I could think of to do."  
"That was the only thing you COULD do, Legolas."  
"I don't understand. Father made him better. He took the arrow out." He had long convinced himself that arrows were for shooting trees. He had never seen anything felled by one, having little interest in the games of the boys when the songs of the girls were so much more fascinating. He had played with them, used them to spear fruit he could not reach –much to his brothers' dismay when they found their quivers sticky with plum juice– but never was able to wrap his mind around the concept of them being instruments of death. Death itself was an almost foreign concept to him due to his sheltering.  
"He did. But he could not take the poison out. I am... I am amazed the bird lasted as long as it did."  
"P-Poison?" Legolas looked up, his eyes looking deep into Brethril's, questioning. This was more bizarre. Elves did not poison things, certainly not innocent hawks! It was hard enough reconciling the injury, but that it was poisoned, too? "W-who...? Father should be told that someone is..."  
"He knows." Brethril sighed, seeing where this was going, dreading it.  
"Then why doesn't he do something so... so no more birds get hurt?!?" Legolas' voice took on same shrill lilt of an upset human child, though it was birdlike from his throat.  
"He does. Legolas... come in from the window."  
"No. If he is doing something then why? WHY?" He held out the bird, head lolling with blood still dripping from the beak.  
"Come in and I shall tell you."  
There was look of marked reluctance on Legolas' small face, and then he ceded. He slipped back inside with soft grace, and sat on his bed, the bird never leaving his arms. Holding his eldest brother in his own hawk-like gaze, he bade him continue in that odd child's way.  
"That was an orcish arrow. You know the tales you've been told of orcs." He saw Legolas shiver, then look down at the bird at the mention of the world. Up until now, they had been stories to scare him, monsters that would sneak in his window and spirit him away if he was bad, or if he strayed from the paths in the woods. They were too real for his young mind now as he suddenly felt the cold of the bird's flesh through his thin garment.  
Brethril spoke quietly, steadily, reassuring Legolas that the orcs would never get him, that all the kingdom would protect him from them. He took the diadem, the mantle of his heritage from his own pale-yellow hair and placed it on Legolas' honey-gold head. Legolas smiled a little at the gesture, feeling at the moment desperate for any security he could glean from his family.  
"Father will explain more things to you as you grow older, but for now... put this behind you? Death is as much a part of life in the forest as hard as it is often times to face. If you have not learned that, it is past time you do. I do not mean to sound harsh or cruel, and apologize if I do, but it because I love you that I say this.  
"Father has protected you from it because he loves you as well. Though he may not always show it, you are the most precious jewel he owns. You must never forget this, Legolas, no matter how many centuries pass from this moment, and no matter what may come between us all. Elves live forever, and love is more important than hate can ever be. Hate brings the downfall of kingdoms."  
"I understand. I love father, too... and you. I-I..." his hands, so steady before, clenched hard enough in the feathers to pull them from the now-stiff body. His brother's hands clasped over his, a single one engulfing both, was the final crack in the dam. The bird slipped from his lap as Legolas threw himself into Brethril's arms, sobbing for all his little body was worth, the wordless sounds of a dying bird. All Brethril could do was to hold him until the end. 


End file.
